Family
by Rapscallion7780
Summary: The Walking Dead: Season 3C. Daryl mourns Merle, but Carol reminds him that he's not alone; Carl wants Rick to let him contribute to the group.
1. Chapter 1

**THE WALKING DEAD**

" **FAMILY"**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

After finishing his breakfast of oatmeal, Daryl Dixon nodded his thanks to the cook Carol Peletier, who sat across from him, eating her own oatmeal. The housewife seemed troubled, but when she saw Daryl's gesture of gratitude, she flashed that elfish smile he had grown to like and he blushed in embarrassment. Daryl quickly picked up the empty bowl, spoon, and the empty coffee cup, got up from his chair and walked over to the two folding tables: the first one had a cooking pot atop it, and the second had a plastic storage bin that substituted for a kitchen sink; he carefully dropped the dishware into the warm, soapy water, and wiped his hands clean on the legs of his torn jeans.

Daryl turned around and looked at the rest of the group eating breakfast in the common room: the group's leader Rick Grimes, sat at a table with his son Carl, farmer and veterinarian Hershel Greene, and Hershel's youngest daughter Beth, who held Rick's baby daughter Judith (or Lil Ass Kicker) in her arms. They were talking amicably as Beth patiently fed a spoonful of oatmeal to Judith.

Daryl looked at the older Greene daughter Maggie and her fiancé the Korean Glenn Rhee. They sat at another table, but they weren't eating breakfast; instead, they were holding hands and whispering to each other like two love-struck teenagers on a date. _They're plannin' their next fuck session._ Daryl thought to himself angrily. _Do they think everyone in this damn group doesn't know they've been fuckin' since the farm? Do they think we're all stupid?!_

Daryl looked over at Carol, who sat with her back to him, sipping her cup of coffee, and his anger began to fade. Everyone in the group had suffered since the Turn, but Carol's loss was especially great: last year Carol's daughter Sophia got lost in the woods running away from two walkers. Of the group, Daryl searched the hardest,—and was nearly killed for his efforts— but in the end, Sophia was found moments after the barn massacre at Hershel's farm, in which the walkers the old farmer and his family had collected and locked up were set free by Rick's partner Shane Walsh; the group shot the walkers down as they staggered out of the barn, but the last one to stagger out was Sophia herself.

But even before the Turn, Carol had suffered terribly: Ed, her pig of a husband had beaten her throughout their marriage. Daryl's anger returned slowly and hands balled into fists as he remembered his and his big brother Merle's early days with the group at the quarry outside Atlanta.

•••

The group of survivors sat around the campfire's cold embers while the sun began to descend in the evening sky. Uphill from the camp was retiree Dale Hovarth's Winnebago. Dale himself sat in a camp chair atop his mobile home, the chair's umbrella shielded him from the hot sun and a Remington 700 bolt-action rifle lay across his lap.

Daryl, his hair short, a goatee sprouting on his face, and wearing a sleeveless checkered shirt and dark grey jeans, sat beside his big brother Merle. The others in the group included sheriff's deputy Shane Walsh; beside him was recent widow Lori Grimes, her son Carl, and the young girl Sophia Peletier; other group members included lawyer Andrea and her sister Amy, a Mexican named Morales and his family; a black woman named Jacqui, a black man who went by the street name "T-Dog", a young Korean man named Glenn Rhee, a sullen mechanic named Jim, Sophia's surly father Ed Peletier, and a dozen other people whose names Daryl hadn't bothered to learn.

"Damnit, I'm hungry enough to eat Chinese food!" Merle grumbled as he tapped a spoon inside an empty bowl impatiently.

Glenn, sitting across from Merle, pulled the lid of his baseball cap down on his face in a nervous attempt to hide his Asian features.

"You're all right by me, Merle," Ed laughed. A moment later the heavyset man looked over his shoulder at the Winnebago's open door. "Hey! You got that stew cooked or not?!" he shouted.

Carol Peletier, wearing a tank top, a cardigan sweater, and Capri pants, appeared in the Winnebago's doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. "Almost," she answered softly.

"Then hurry it the hell up!"

Carol didn't reply this time and she stepped obediently back inside the Winnebago. Daryl glared at Ed, Merle snickered, and the rest of the group looked up at the evening sky or looked at the embers in the center of the campfire.

"A man's gotta be the king of his castle," Merle counseled as he rubbed his chin, "I'd give you a shot of whiskey, buddy, but Elliot Ness over there poured out all the booze in camp."

Merle glared at Shane, who glared back with the barrel of his Mossberg 590 shotgun leaning against the crook of his shoulder. "I told you, Merle: we can't let anyone get loud and drunk. We stay quiet and we stay hidden until the army…"

"Yeah, I remember all that shit, man," Merle grumbled as he swatted a hand in Shane's direction. "Stop recitin' it like it's the Miranda warnin'."

An uncomfortable silence hung over the group, until Andrea leaned forward like she was had to whisper a disturbing rumor. "Uh, Officer Walsh—"

"I told ya'll to call me Shane," the sheriff's deputy grinned.

"Err…right. **Shane.** It might be days until the army occupies Atlanta, and we're going to run out of supplies before then, so what are we going to do?"

Shane looked down at the cold embers and scratched his curly dark hair. "Damn. Good question, counselor. I think if we all shared the food we packed, there'd be enough—"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?!" Daryl asked as he sat straight and looked at the group incredulously. "I'm a hunter! I'm the one who killed those damn rabbits yesterday!"

"Whoa, calm down, Daniel Boone," a surprised Merle said to his little brother. "I don't think these good people are gonna appreciate havin' Bambi served on a diner plate."

Amy shivered in disgust, "Eww. I still can't believe we're going to eat forest animals."

"We could fish!" Andrea announced brightly. "If Dale lets Amy and I borrow his rowboat and fishing gear—"

"Mom, I'm…I'm not really hungry," Carl lied.

Lori—who had her arm around Carl's shoulder—pulled him towards her side, "Carl, you need to eat."

"But, Mom—"

"I don't have anything!" Ed shouted nervously as he waved his hands in protest. "I only packed clothes, not food! Maybe if that mechanic hadn't sat on his ass yesterday, eating beans, we'd have some real food!"

"Hey, I didn't hear anyone asking for your opinion!" Jim shouted. It was one of the few times he had spoken since the group came together.

Glenn raised his hand to get the group's attention, "Uh, guys. I'm not afraid to go into Atlanta and scavenge. I know all about getting in and out places fast. Believe it or not, I'm a—"

Daryl leapt to his feet. "Are you people fuckin' deaf?! I said I'm a hunter! We'll be all right!"

Everyone stopped arguing and looked at the younger Dixon brother. Merle looked at him angrily, and the group looked at him fearfully. Shane huffed as he moved his shotgun to his right hand and stood up. "Is there a problem here?" he asked.

"Shane," Lori said worriedly as she reached up and held the sheriff's deputy's wrist.

Merle chuckled as he stood beside Daryl and put his arm around his little brother's shoulders. "No problem here, Deputy Dawg," Merle grinned. "My little brother's just askin' for some gratitude. I swear to God, would it kill ya'll to say 'Thank you for the meal, Daryl'"?

Merle and Daryl sat down and so did Shane. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Merle whispered into Daryl's ear. "We've got a plan, and it ain't keepin' these people fed with critters and deer until this camp gets overrun by those abominations."

Daryl huffed through his nose but nodded in agreement. Merle grinned and patted his brother on the back.

"Dinner's ready," Carol said as she stepped out of the Winnebago with a stainless cooking pot in her hands.

"It smells wonderful, Carol!" Dale said cheerfully as he peered down from the Winnebago's roof. "Save me a bowl!"

Carol didn't reply and walked over to a folding table and placed the pot atop it. Dale shrugged in disbelief at the mousy housewife's behavior and resumed keeping watch for the dead.

Shane placed his shotgun down on the ground, Glenn pulled his hat up, and the group stood up with their bowls and spoons in their hands and formed a line as they shuffled towards the table while Carol removed the pot's lid and began stirring its contents with a ladle.

"Wait," Lori said to the group with her hands raised to signal a pause.

The group stopped and looked at Lori baffled.

"The kids," Lori said as she looked at Carl, Sophia, and the Morales' children; they had their bowls clasped to their chests or were already holding them in anticipation of a serving. "They should eat first."

Carl, Sophia, and Morales' children looked up at Shane, hoping he would give them permission to stand at the front of the line.

"I'm cool with that," T-Dog said honestly. "I wouldn't be able to sleep if the kids starved."

"Yeah, Mrs. Grimes is right. T-Dog is right, too," Glenn said timidly. "Let the kids eat first."

"Hell, fine by me," Merle grinned. He looked at Glenn and gestured to the front of the line with his hand, "Bon appetite, junior, do you need a bib?"

Glenn fidgeted with the bowl in his hands. "Good one," he said to Merle shyly.

Sophia was first in line, with Carl second, and the Morales children behind them. Carol raised the ladle and poured one portion of rabbit meat, corn niblets, sliced carrots, and sliced potatoes into each bowl. Once the children got their stew, they ran happily to the campfire and waited for the adults.

Daryl was in the middle of the line, and he saw that as Carol raised the ladle, the sleeve of her cardigan sweater would fall down and there was a fresh, purple bruise on her wrist. Daryl was familiar with that kind of bruise. It was the kind of bruise you'd get when someone bigger and stronger wanted to hurt you without hitting you in the face or if there were people nearby to stop it. Daryl was familiar with that kind of bruise because he had seen it on his mother's wrist when company was at the house. Daryl glared at Ed again and his right hand balled into a fist.

It was now Ed's turn to receive his share of stew; Carol raised the ladle and poured a portion of stew into her husband's bowl. Ed looked at the stew in disgust and a moment later glared at his wife. "What the hell is this?" he asked angrily.

Carol shivered. "It's…it's your share, Ed."

"My share? I wouldn't call this a snack! Give me some more!"

Carol dropped the ladle; it fell into the pot and she wrung her hands together frightfully. "Ed, there's barely enough for everyone."

Ed looked to his right at the rest of the group and looked at Carol. "Do you think I give a shit about everyone?" he whispered angrily.

Carol shook her head.

Sophia, watching her parents from the campfire, started trembling; Carl noticed Sophia's behavior and held her hand comfortingly. The Morales children, as well as the adults who had been served the stew—such as Andrea, Amy, and T-Dog—picked at it with their spoons; Glenn, who was next in line, was looking at the ground. Daryl continued glaring at Ed. Merle huffed irritably; more upset over waiting for dinner than a husband threatening their wife. Lori, standing at the rear of the line with Shane, put her hand on the shoulder of her deceased husband's best friend. "Shane, do something," she whispered urgently.

Shane looked at the Peletiers and shook his head. "Lori, it's none of our business," he whispered in reply.

Lori looked wide-eyed at Shane, who avoided her gaze shamefully.

At the serving table, Ed grabbed Carol's bruised wrist and pulled her hands apart. "Listen, bitch," he whispered as he leaned towards his wife, "if you don't give me some more food, I'll give you something to cry about later."

Daryl had seen and heard enough. He dropped his bowl and spoon, pushed Glenn out of the way, and grabbed Ed by the back of his shirt collar and pulled him away from Carol.

"Hey?!" Ed screamed in surprise as his bowl of stew flew out of his hand.

"Ed!" Carol screamed as she clutched her hands together again.

"Goddammit!" Merle shouted as he dropped his bowl and spoon to the ground.

Shane looked up in the direction of the screams. Up on the Winnebago's roof, Dale leapt out of his chair to watch the commotion below. At the campfire, Sophia stopped trembling and her eyes widened as she watched Daryl attack her father.

Daryl threw Ed to the ground as hard as he could. The heavyset man landed with a thud and screamed painfully as a rock stabbed him between his shoulder blades. Ed rolled onto his left side, and Daryl pushed his knee onto the abuser's right side, making Ed scream again and flail his limbs. Daryl grabbed Ed's right wrist and twisted it behind the abusive husband's back. Ed screamed even louder and he was forced to roll onto his stomach.

"You think you're tough?!" Daryl shouted as he applied more pressure onto Ed's wrist. "Try threaten' me, you fat bastard!"

Ed kept screaming in agony as tears began to leak between his clenched eyelids.

"All right, that's enough!" Shane ordered.

Shane wrapped his arm around Daryl's neck and pulled him off Ed, who took his right arm away from his back slowly and looked at the bruise swelling on his wrist.

Daryl dug the heels of his Red Wing boots into the ground and that stopped Shane momentarily, but Shane clamped down on the choke hold and he continued pulling Daryl away from Ed.

"I'm sorry, Ed!" a voice cried. Spots appeared before Daryl's eyes but he saw Carol, crying and running towards her injured husband. The rest of the group walked towards Ed; no one showed the same concern for him as Carol did.

"Hey, you pig! Let go of my brother!" Merle shouted.

A scuffle broke out between Merle and Shane, and Daryl was caught in the middle. Shane released the chokehold and Daryl fell to the ground, gasping for air and his vision spotty.

"Shane! Shane, stop it!" Lori pleaded.

"Shane!" Carl shouted as he ran up the hill towards the man he saw as an uncle.

"Mom!" Sophia shouted as she ran alongside Carl. Carol stood up and Sophia threw her arms around her mother, who hugged her daughter tightly.

Daryl, still catching his breath, sat up; his vision cleared and he looked over his shoulder to see Merle and Shane grappling with one another. They stumbled into the folding table and knocked it over along with the cooking pot and the remaining rabbit stew spilled onto the ground.

"Aw, fuck!" Merle grumbled when he saw the spilled dinner.

"Shit!" Shane hissed through clenched teeth, when he saw the stew was ruined.

Glenn turned around at the sound of the table and cooking pot being knocked over. When he saw the rabbit meat and sliced potatoes and vegetables lying on the ground, he lowered his head and sighed sadly.

Shane and Merle looked at each other and they resumed fighting in an instant. T-Dog, Morales, and a few of the other men ran forward and pulled the two men apart.

"This was your fault, you pig!" Merle shouted as he tried to break free.

"Hey, my idiot little brother wasn't the one who tried to break some asshole's arm!" Shane countered as he tried to break loose of Morales and T-Dog.

Dale, with his rifle slung over his shoulder, climbed down the Winnebago's ladder and ran towards the group. "Will you two be quiet?!" the retiree begged. "Those… **things** might be in the woods!"

Lori ran forward and stood in front of her deceased husband's best friend and partner. "Shane, calm down," she begged as she placed her hands along the sides of his face.

Shane stared at Lori for a few moments until he nodded. Morales and T-Dog glanced at each other and let go of Shane cautiously. Shane was catching his breath, but he didn't charge

Merle and he nodded to Morales and T-Dog that he was done fighting. The men holding Merle let him go too, but Merle pushed one of them to vent the last of his anger.

"Listen, you Dixons," Shane said as he wiped some blood away from his mouth, "the third rule in this camp is no fighting. So if you boys can't follow the rules, we'll toss your shit in a trash bag and send ya'll down the road with a kick in your asses!"

Merle glared at Shane, but he chuckled and raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "I hear you, officer. My hearin' is just as good as my memory, savvy?"

Merle walked over to Daryl, who had just caught his breath and was rising to his feet. Merle slapped his arm around his little brother's shoulders, spun him around, and together they began walking downhill.

"What the hell was that chivalry all about?" Merle asked.

Daryl huffed. "Come on, man. You saw the bruise on her wrist. Who do you think put it there?"

"Yeah, I saw it," Merle nodded. "But it ain't our concern."

Daryl stopped in his tracks and looked at Merle wide-eyed. "What?" he asked.

Merle looked up the hill and grinned. "Take a gander, little brother."

Daryl looked uphill and saw Carol helping Ed to his feet. Ed shouted at Carol, making her step back frightfully and Ed staggered towards the quarry to soak his injured wrist.

"The little lady didn't run down here and give you a peck on the cheek; she stayed with that pile of dog shit. That's the choice she made, so why should you give a damn?"

Daryl kept watching Carol as she watched Ed walk out of her sight. Sophia wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, and Carol put her hand on her daughter's shoulder comfortingly.

"What that bastard did was wrong," Daryl said as he looked at Merle.

"No shit it was wrong," Merle nodded. "So are you gonna hit every dog shit husband we come across?"

Daryl huffed and looked away from Merle. "No."

Merle chuckled and shoved Daryl lightly on the shoulder. "Good. 'Cause you can't have Jiminy Crickett on your shoulder and tellin' you to be a Goddamn hero, when we're plannin' on robbin' this camp six ways from Sunday."

Daryl looked at Merle again and a serious look came over his face. "I've gotta go," he said firmly.

Merle blinked. "What did you say?"

Daryl left Merle and went to their tent. He threw the door flap open and took out his Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow.

Merle followed Daryl and stood beside him. "I asked you a question, son," the older Dixon brother said firmly.

Daryl placed the crossbow's barrel on the ground, and slipped his foot into the stirrup; next, he pulled the string back until it was cocked, then he slipped his foot out of the stirrup, held the crossbow in his hands, took an arrow from the attached quiver, loaded it onto the flight groove, and flicked the safety to the "on" position and slung the crossbow over his shoulder. "I'm goin' huntin'," he said.

"What?!" Merle shouted. The older Dixon realized he had raised his voice and looked around to see if the others in the group had noticed; they had not. Merle looked at Daryl and saw he was walking out of camp. "Are you shittin' me?" he asked as he ran after his little brother.

"We need food and there's about two hours of daylight left for me to bag somethin'" Daryl said as he kept walking.

"Hell no, son," Merle said as he caught up to Daryl, "what we need to do strategize: when we should surprise 'em, and what's worth takin'."

"It can wait," Daryl said firmly.

Merle stopped in his tracks and watched in disbelief as Daryl continued on. "No shit?" the elder Dixon brother asked sarcastically. "Okay. I'll just mosey on back to camp and wait for that pig to kick me out or those abominations to stop by and tear me apart, whichever comes first."

Daryl kept walking and disappeared into the forest. Merle clenched his fists in anger. "Daryl!" Merle shouted far behind him.

•••

"Daryl!" Rick called.

Daryl blinked a few times and realized he was standing in the common room of Cell Block C. Rick, Carl, the Greenes, and Glenn were looking at him worriedly. Daryl looked at Carol, and saw that she still sat with her back to him, but was now staring down at her cup of coffee.

"Daryl, are you all right?" Rick asked with concern. "You've been standing like a statue for a while."

"I've gotta go," Daryl said, repeating the statement he told Merle at the campsite a year ago.

Carol dropped her cup of coffee, and its remaining contents spilled across the table. Rick blinked several times, while Carl, Glenn, and the Greenes looked up in surprise at Daryl.

Daryl walked out of the common room and into the cellblock as Carol and the others watched him go. Daryl walked up the staircase, onto the second tier, and into his cell. He stared at his two crossbows resting on the top bunk. The newest one—a Stryker Strykezone 380—was a surprise gift from Michonne after she, Rick, and Carl returned from King County with enough guns and ammunition to fight the war against the Governor. The older crossbow—a Horton Scout HD 125—was a birthday gift from Merle, who Daryl had buried in the group's cemetery yesterday.

Daryl picked up the Horton Scout and examined it. He remembered his sixteenth birthday, his father actually being sober that day, and Merle grinning as he handed him the box covered in wrapping paper and with a bow tapped to it. Daryl tore the wrapping paper away, revealing a boxed Horton crossbow.

" _Gotta get ready for when society crashes like a 747,"_ Merle quipped. _"One day, the bullets will run out and we'll be usin' bows and arrows like the Goddamn redskins."_

A tear ran down Daryl's eye and he wiped it away with a fingertip. "You weren't as dumb as you looked, Merle," he muttered sadly.

Daryl examined the three arrows set in the quiver attached to the bottom of the crossbow: the original carbon arrows were lost killing walkers from the CDC, to Hershel's farm, but Daryl replaced them with wooden arrows he carved and fletched with turkey feathers; during the group's temporary stay in the storage units last winter, Daryl added to his supply several carbon arrows from different manufacturers, so the quiver was loaded with two arrows fletched with yellow and red vanes, and one arrow fletched with orange and green vanes.

Daryl placed the crossbow's barrel down on the cell's floor, slid his foot into the stirrup, pulled the string back until it was cocked, and slipped his foot out of the stirrup. He held the crossbow in his hands, took one arrow from the quiver, loaded it onto the flight groove, and flicked the crossbow's safety to the "on" position.

Daryl placed the Horton Scout crossbow on the table bolted onto the cell wall behind him and took his poncho folded on the top bunk. Daryl had also found the poncho inside the storage units, and it had a Navajo Indian design pattern. Daryl slipped the poncho over his head, picked up the Horton Scout crossbow, and slung it over his shoulder and walked out of his cell.

When Daryl reached the bottom of the staircase, he found Rick standing in the center of the hallway and Carol was standing beside the common room's doorway. When Carol saw Daryl wearing his poncho and with his old crossbow slung over his shoulder, she gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth.

"Daryl, what are you…where are you…?" Rick stammered.

"Relax, I'm goin' on a hunt," Daryl said as he walked past the former sheriff's deputy; he also glanced at Carol as he walked inside the common room.

Inside the common room Daryl saw Carl, Glenn, and the Greenes (including Beth, holding baby Judith) were standing up and looking at him quizzically. Daryl walked over to the shop desk along the wall, opened the center drawer, and rummaged through the small collection of car keys for the one belonging to the Dodge Ram 1500 truck, he found the key and put it in his jeans pocket.

"We overheard you were going on a hunt," Hershel said.

Daryl grumbled the affirmative as he closed the middle drawer.

"Are you hunting the Governor?" Carl asked excitedly, "can I go, too?"

"Carl," Rick said sternly as he and Carol stepped inside the common room; the young boy hung his head in embarrassment.

Daryl adjusted the crossbows weight on his shoulder and walked towards the side door.

"You're going on a hunt now?" Rick asked in surprise.

"We need meat. 'specially if we're goin' to rebuild this damn place," Daryl answered.

"But I have a food run planned," Rick argued, "besides, we have to look the damage over and list the materials we need for the rebuilding project."

Daryl reached the side door and partially opened it before he looked back at the group's leader. "Ask those old bastards from Woodbury to help you; make 'em earn their keep."

Daryl looked at Carol, who had a worried expression on her face. Daryl nodded and she smiled softly and nodded back. Daryl stepped out into the courtyard and the door slammed shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Carol, Carl, Glenn, and Maggie still stood in the common room, while Hershel and Beth (holding baby Judith) sat at a table. The side door swung open and everyone looked to see Rick step inside.

"Daryl just left," Rick said as he closed the door behind him, "didn't even bother to say 'Bye' to Tyreese and Eddie at the gate."

"He's gotten more surly than usual," Hershel noted as he sat at the table, looking down at his cup of coffee.

"Daryl's mourning Merle," Carol explained.

Everyone except Hershel looked at the gray haired woman who stood alone. "Yes, Carol, I believe you're right," Hershel said before taking a sip of coffee.

"That's so sad," Beth pouted as she adjusted her hold on Judith, "Merle seemed like a jerk, but he was Daryl's brother, too. He's all alone now."

Carol looked into the distance, with Beth's statement echoing in her mind. _'He's all alone now'._

"Do you think Daryl's going to be okay, Rick?" Maggie asked worriedly. "If he disappears on us again and the Governor comes back—"

"If the Governor comes back, we'll kill him," Carl interrupted.

"Carl," Rick said firmly.

The young boy looked at his father.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but go to your cell."

Carl huffed disappointedly, his shoulders slumped, and he staggered out of the common room and into the cellblock. Rick watched his son leave and then he walked towards the group.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Daryl," Rick said as he thumbed over his shoulder, "he's always been moody and that's not going to stop anytime soon. Besides, he's right about the meat; rebuilding this prison is going to take a lot of work, and we'll need the protein to help us do it."

"But…you said you were planning a food run, Rick," Glenn said hesitantly.

"I am. I think there're a few places other survivors wouldn't have thought to check. But now we're a year into this, I shouldn't be so optimistic. Daryl can bring in some venison or squirrel meat until we're ready to look."

"When do you think that'll be?" Hershel asked.

"As soon as the new gate is put up," Rick answered. "In the meantime, I want to take a look at the damage with that guy from Woodbury, Henry Matheson. He was a construction foreman before…all of this."

The group considered Rick's plan for a few moments, and then Glenn stepped forward. "I want to go with you on that run," he announced as he looked Rick in the eyes.

Rick shook his head. "No. Thanks, Glenn, but no."

Glenn blinked. "Are you serious? I'm the group's scavenger! It's what I do!"

"I know. And you've done a great job, even before I joined the group back at the quarry. But you and Maggie risked your lives getting us those guns out of the tombs. I can't—and I won't—ask you or her to join me on this run."

"But Rick—"

"Glenn," Maggie said comfortingly as her hand slipped into his. The young Korean looked at his fiancée and she smiled.

"Okay, Rick." Glenn said with a nod.

"Good," Rick smiled.

"Rick, what about Michonne?" Hershel asked.

The sheriff's deputy froze and thought about the mysterious black woman in the dreadlocks and who wielded a katana. "She told me that she'd be gone for a couple of days. But I wouldn't worry about her either."

"I hope you're right," Hershel said.

"I'm sure Rick is," Glenn said as he let go of Maggie's hand, put his arm around her shoulders and walked them both towards the steps of the common room's vestibule. "Michonne will be back. Daryl will be back. And things can get back to normal around here."

"Things will never get back to normal, Glenn," Hershel warned.

Glenn stopped at the foot of the steps and looked back at the old farmer.

"The walkers, even men like the Governor, will always be a threat to us. But we can't let them frighten us so badly we'll hide behind these walls or make us so frightened we'll lose faith in our fellow man. It's like I said at Merle's funeral: 'We vow to live again'."

A sad expression came over Glenn's face, but he looked forward and walked up the vestibule steps with Maggie at his side, opened the door, and stepped out of the common room.

•••

"Are you still upset about Rick turning you down?" Maggie asked as she and Glenn walked through the vestibule and towards the iron door leading to the courtyard.

Glenn sighed sadly. "No, that's not it," he answered. A moment later Glenn took his arm off Maggie's shoulder and used both hands to slide open the heavy iron door. Glenn and Maggie stepped outside and walked down the staircase to the courtyard.

"They buried Merle yesterday; we should've been there for Daryl," Glenn said shamefully. "After all the cruel things I said about Merle—"

Glenn stopped talking and looked straight ahead as he thought about the cruel things he had said about Merle yesterday:

 _He shouldn't be buried here!_

 _Did you forget that Merle kidnapped Maggie and me? He beat the crap out of me, and then he threw a walker at me!_

 _Merle let the Governor put his filthy hands on Maggie! He knew what his boss was going to do to her, but he let that bastard touch her!_

 _Merle was a killer! He wasn't one of us!_

"Glenn?" Maggie's voice called, strong and nearby.

Glenn blinked and looked at Maggie, who had a concerned look on her face.

Oh! I'm sorry," Glenn said. "I…was just thinking about those things I said about Merle yesterday."

"I remember," Maggie nodded. "I also remember Daryl strangling you over them."

"I deserved it," Glenn admitted as he touched his neck gingerly.

Maggie put her hands on Glenn's forearms and moved him towards her direction. "What you said was cruel, but there was some truth to it."

"Some," Glenn nodded.

Maggie looked at Glenn confused.

"Merle was the Governor's lieutenant, so chances are he did some bad things before he kidnapped us. When we were prisoners in Woodbury he beat me bloody to find this prison, and when we all escaped, Daryl chose him over the group. But when the Governor attacked us, and set those walkers loose in the courtyard, Daryl came back, and Merle was with him! They saved Rick, Maggie. I don't think Rick would be here today without their help."

"But Merle tried to hand Michonne over to the Governor," Maggie reminded the Korean.

"Rick agreed to make the Governor's deal so there'd be peace. Your father knew about it before Rick told the rest of us! Merle only kidnapped Michonne because he left before Rick could tell him the deal was off.

"But Merle let Michonne go and he kept going to the feed mill and he…sacrificed himself to take out most of the Governor's army. That winter out on the road may have toughened us up, but the Governor had the numbers. We're alive because of Merle.

"And another thing about Merle was…"

Glenn stopped talking and looked at the ground. Maggie put a hand under his chin and tilted his head up gently. "What is it?" she asked.

"I don't think I should say—"

"It's all right."

Glenn looked at Maggie for a few moments and said, "If Merle would sacrifice himself for a group that…despised him…wouldn't leave you alone if he thought the Governor would try to hurt you."

Maggie looked down at the ground as she considered Glenn's theory, and a few moments later her arms slipped around Glenn's back and she pulled him into an embrace.

"Are you okay?" Glenn asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Maggie answered. "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"You're right about Merle. I wish he had come back with Michonne."

"Me, too."

A minute later Maggie and Glenn broke their embrace and she looked at her left hand and started to giggle. "What's so funny?" Glenn asked.

Maggie stopped giggling, but a smile stayed on her face. "I just remembered our engagement," she explained as she held up her hand so Glenn could see the large diamond on her ring finger. "Now that the war's over, we need to set a wedding date."

Glenn went pale. Uh, yeah. Right," he said nervously.

Maggie giggled again. "Oh, so you've got cold feet?"

"What?" Glenn asked with surprise. "No! I mean, yes! Wait, I mean…I want to get married! Uh, I mean, I want to get married to you! "

Maggie laughed harder and placed her hands along the sides of Glenn's head. "Baby, I believe you."

Glenn smiled as the color returned to his complexion. "Thanks. So, I guess we should agree on a date, right?"

Maggie looked at the ground again as she thought about when would be the best date for their wedding. A minute later she looked up at Glenn. "How about after this prison's rebuilt?"

Glenn smiled as he nodded. "Yeah, Good idea! That'll give us time to search for a good pair of wedding rings!"

Maggie laughed and Glenn laughed, too.

"I love you, Glenn," Maggie said.

"I love you too," Glenn said.

The farm girl and the Korean kissed and embraced again.

•••

Rick walked into the cellblock to talk to Carl, Hershel stood on his one leg, slipped his crutches under his arms, and hobbled towards the vestibule steps, Judith started to cry, and

Beth stood up, held the baby as close to her as she dared, and rushed to the cellblock doorway as she whispered a prayer that there was a diaper in her cell.

Carol smiled in amusement at the teenage girl's plight as she went about the tables, picking up the bowls, spoons, and coffee cups that were left behind and dropped them in the storage bin filled with water atop the folding table. Carol rolled up her sleeves, put on some yellow rubber gloves, picked up a sponge, and began scrubbing the dishware clean in the soapy water.

Many thoughts ran through Carol's mind as she scrubbed the dishware:

 _Why did the prison's kitchen have to be in the tombs?_

 _It's too bad we eat separately from the Woodburians. Mealtimes are the best chance for us to get to know them better._

 _I'd love to cook in a real kitchen again._

 _He's all alone now._

Carol dropped a bowl and it fell into the plastic bin and the soapy water spilled over the rim and spread across the folding table.

 _Did I really just think that?_ Carol asked herself.

Carol rested her gloved hands on the rim of the plastic bin and looked into the soap water. _No. Beth said that earlier. She must've come back and she's whispering to Judith._

Carol looked at the cellblock's doorway, but the teenage girl wasn't there, and she shook her head in embarrassment. Carol then reached into the bin, picked up the bowl, and resumed scrubbing it with the sponge. When the bowl was cleaned, she placed the bowl atop the stack on the folding table.

 _He needs your help more than ever._

Carol's eyes widened and she stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall. She gasped for air and looked around the common room to see if Beth or someone else from the group had walked in and whispered that statement while she was working, but it was as empty as it was when she begun washing the dishware.

 _That's bullshit!_ Carol thought to herself as she pulled off the yellow, rubber gloves. _Daryl's gone on a hunt, like he's done countless times before! How was I supposed to help him with that?_

Carol walked past the folding table, threw the yellow rubber gloves down and sat at one of the common room's tables. _Liar!_ She scolded herself. _That's not the kind of help he needs!_

Carol thought back to yesterday morning, when Daryl told her he was going to the feed mill to bring Merle's body back for a burial at the prison. She insisted on going, and Daryl accepted reluctantly. It turned out to be a wise decision on Daryl's part, because Carol saved him in a gunfight against a Latino gang that happened upon them.

 _You can watch his back against some gang, or even walkers, but can you mend his broken heart?_ Carol asked herself.

Carol smiled softly. Daryl didn't wear his emotions on his sleeve—whenever he did wear a shirt with sleeves—but she could tell when he was heartbroken, and she told the group why after he had left: he was mourning Merle. Carol lowered her head and closed her eyes as she thought back to a year ago on Hershel's farm, and the first time she had seen Daryl in that condition:

•••

Carol—carrying a tray of tonight's dinner—walked towards the bedroom that a wounded Daryl was recuperating in. This morning he had taken one of Hershel's horses and returned hours later without the horse, wounded, disheveled, and exhausted. Andrea, who was on guard duty atop Dale's RV, mistook Daryl for a walker and shot him. Fortunately, the bullet grazed Daryl's temple and knocked him unconscious.

At the sound of the gunshot, Carol ran out of the farmhouse along with Lori, Carl, and Hershel's people. That's when she saw Rick and Shane carrying the unconscious Daryl, and she saw T-Dog, holding the doll Morales' daughter had given Sophia. The sight of the doll gave Carol renewed hope that her little girl was alive and nearby.

Carol opened the bedroom door and saw Daryl in bed, lying on his right side with gauze wrapped around his temple, and a gauze patch tapped to the wound on his left side. Daryl had been starring out into the distance, but when he heard the old door creak open, he looked over his shoulder and saw Carol step inside the bedroom; he blushed and pulled up the bedsheets to cover his bare chest and his wound.

"How do you feel?" Carol asked.

"About as good as I look," Daryl answered.

Carol set the tray on the nightstand. "I brought you some dinner. You must be starving."

Daryl rolled over slightly to glance at the plate of food, and resumed staring out into the distance. Carol instantly knew that Daryl was heartbroken because he had failed to find Sophia. He had brought back her doll; a clue as to where she was and where she might have gone, but it wasn't enough…not to him anyway.

Carol bent down and Daryl flinched as if he thought she was going to hit him, but she kissed him on his bandaged temple. Carol stood up straight, and saw the surprised look on Daryl's face.

"Watch out, I've got stiches," Daryl quipped.

"You need to know something. You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy ever did in his whole life."

Daryl looked back and forth at Carol, uncertain as to what he should say. "I didn't do anythin' Rick or Shane wouldn't have done," he said.

"I know. You're every bit as good as them. Every bit," Carol smiled.

Carol walked out of the bedroom and closed the door gently.

•••

Carol's memory of comforting Daryl ended but her vision was blurry, she blinked several times and realized that she was crying and her tears were falling onto the table. Carol didn't really love Ed, and her feelings for her abusive husband faded away along with her self-esteem. But maybe her tears for Daryl weren't just concern for the man who risked his life to find her daughter Sophia, maybe they meant something more. Maybe they meant—even if it was just a little—might be in love with him.

Carol raised her head, wiped her hands across her eyes, and took a deep breath; she then looked up at the common room's barred windows and thought about Daryl, out on a hunt, alone.

"You're not alone, Daryl," Carol said. "You're not alone."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Rick walked along the bottom tier of Cell Block C, stopped at the doorway to Carl's cell, and looked at his son, who sat on the lower bunk, looking down at the floor, with his battered Stetson hat at his side.

"Carl," Rick said softly.

Carl didn't reply.

"We need to talk," Rick said.

Carl looked up at his father.

"Can I come in?" Rick asked.

Carl shrugged. "You're a cop, running a prison. I guess you can do whatever you want."

Rick stepped inside Carl's cell, sat on the small stool chair bolted onto the floor, and looked at his son. After a long minute of awkward silence, Rick asked, "Why are you so angry, Carl?"

Carl's eyes widened and he sat up straight. "What?" he asked.

"Why are you so angry, Carl?" Rick repeated.

Carl looked to his right and his left as he wrung his hands together. _Why am I angry?_ He thought. The reasons ran through Carl's mind like stock cars at the Daytona 500:

 _Mom's dead._

 _Shane was screwing Mom while Dad was in a coma._

 _I wish I killed Shane when he was alive, instead of when he was a walker._

 _I shot Mom so she wouldn't turn._

 _I don't think Judith is Dad's daughter._

 _Dad doesn't think I know about Shane and Mom. He must think I'm stupid. I know he thinks I can't help the group._

 _Sophia's dead._

 _There's no Heaven._

 _It's my fault Dale was killed by that walker._

 _If Dad made sure that prisoner Andrew was dead, mom, Maggie, and me wouldn't have been trapped in that boiler room, and mom would still be alive._

 _I could've saved Mom if I had run through the walkers in the tombs and got Hershel._

 _I want to believe in Heaven. I want to believe that Mom and Sophia are somewhere safe._

 _Dad should've killed the Governor at that stupid peace meeting._

 _Merle's dead._

 _Andrea's dead._

 _I should've been with Dad and the others when they chased the Governor's army out of the prison._

 _I saved Judith, Beth, and Hershel from that punk in the woods, but Hershel ratted me out to Dad._

 _Those people from Woodbury were with the Governor! Why did Dad take them in?_

 _The Governor is still alive, and he'll come back here._

 _I wish Dad would stop treating me like a kid._

Carl?" His father's voice called over his hurried thoughts.

Carl blinked and looked at his father, who had a worried expression on his face. "What?" the boy asked.

"Are you all right?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," Carl nodded quickly.

"Are you sure about that?" Rick asked as he reached out and put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "You were shaking and you were clenching your fists."

"Dad, I'm fine!" Carl shouted as he swatted his father's hand away, stood up and stomped out of the cell.

"Carl!" Rick shouted in surprise.

Carl ignored his father as he turned to the left and kept walking. Rick grabbed the Stetson off the bottom bunk, stood up, and walked out of the cell. He saw Carl walking past the staircase and heading towards the barred doors at the end of the cell block.

"Carl!" Rick shouted again.

The young boy stood still, huffed angrily, and turned profile.

"Where are you going?" Rick asked.

"For a walk," Carl answered curtly.

Rick turned profile so Carl could see the doorway to the common room and pointed at it with the battered Stetson hat. "The exit is that way."

"I'm going this way," Carl said as he pointed his thumb at the barred doors behind him.

"Carl, we haven't checked that section of the prison yet."

"I have; that's the door I took to find the infirmary, remember?"

Rick shook his head in disapproval. "Carl, that was weeks ago. The walkers in those hallways may have doubled."

Carl rested his hand on the grip of his Berretta 92FS pistol in the holster at his side. "It's okay, I've got my gun."

Rick's eyes widened as he was stunned by Carl's nonchalance. He heard footsteps snapping off into the distance and realized his son was heading towards the barred doors.

"Freeze!" Rick shouted, as his police instinct kicked in.

Carl froze, and he gasped in fright. A moment later, Carl heard his father's footsteps coming towards him.

"Turn around," Rick ordered.

Carl turned around slowly, and looked up at his father.

"Something's bothering you, Carl," Rick said. "What is it?"

Carl lowered his head. _I don't know what to say,_ Carl thought. _I mean, Dad lost it for a while after Mom died. What would he do if I tell him Mom and Shane were screwing around, and Judith might not be his daughter? Would he kill himself?_

The moment Carl thought of Judith, the baby's cries echoed from within the common room. Carl raised his head, and Rick turned around to see Beth rushing into the cell block with Judith in her arms. The young farm girl realized she had run interrupted a conversation and she stopped in her tracks.

"Uh, is everything okay?" Beth asked nervously.

"Yeah," Rick answered. "Carl and I were just talking."

"Oh," Beth said as she adjusted her hold on the baby. "Judith has a dirty diaper, so I was just going to…you know…"

"Sure," Rick said with a smile. "Thank you for taking care of her, Beth."

Beth blushed and hurried into her cell; Carl watched her holding his baby sister and a chill ran through him. _The Governor will come back, and when he does, he'll try to kill us all, even Judith and Beth._

Carl glared at his father. "You should've killed the Governor at that stupid peace meeting."

Rick looked at his son, while the sounds of Judith crying as Beth hummed a folk song filled the cellblock. After a minute of silence, Rick finally said, "Maybe I should've."

Carl blinked. "Really?" he asked.

Rick nodded. "Andrea and I hoped we could work out a truce with the Governor; a border agreement, mutual avoidance, something. But the Governor wanted our surrender…our "unconditional surrender" as he called it. I should've pulled out my gun and shot him then and there, but I didn't. If I had, Andrea would still be alive, so would Merle."

"But you agreed to hand Michonne over to the Governor!" Carl said, with anger back in his voice.

"I know," Rick nodded. "I was wrong. At the time I was thinking that the Governor had the numbers, and he had us trapped inside this prison. I had to weigh the lives of our group—especially yours and Judith—over the life of a woman we barely knew."

"And the Governor is still out there!" Carl shouted. "You should've gone with Michonne to find him!"

"You mean, I should've let you go with Michonne to find him," Rick corrected his son.

Carl froze, but a few moments later nodded angrily. "Yeah! You should've!"

Rick knelt down so he was at eye level with Carl, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You're brave, Carl, and you're smart. Yesterday I was thinking about our talk before I left with Daryl and Michonne to finish off the Governor."

Carl listened to his father intently.

"I asked you if it was true that you shot that kid, do you remember that?" Rick asked.

Carl nodded as he remembered the teenager walking towards him slowly, holding the shotgun in his hand, but not dropping it, like Hershel ordered him to.

"You said that you did what you had to do. I understand that. I was shocked that you had that viewpoint, but when it came to protecting Judith, I understand it. I'd do whatever I have to do to protect you and your sister."

Carl stood a bit taller and a smile twitched upon his face.

"But the Governor is gone, Carl," Rick reminded his son. "The important thing now is to rebuild this prison. Michonne wanted to search for the Governor, and I couldn't stop her if I tried, but I had to stop you, and I had to stop myself. I need you here, and I've got to be here, too."

Carl bit his lip and he shook his head as his anger began to boil again. "What if the Governor does come back? What about those people from Woodbury that you brought here? What if the Governor shows up outside the fences and they decide to betray us?"

"That's why we have to rebuild this prison, Carl, so we'll be ready in case the Governor—or someone like him—shows up." Rick answered. "And as for the Woodburians, they're mostly old people and children. I couldn't leave them to fend for themselves. And if you had seen them, huddled together and afraid, you'd have asked me to bring them with us."

Carl nodded instinctively, when he realized that he just agreed with what his father said. _I think Dad's right,_ he thought. _And I think I'd ask that because Mom would want us to help them._ The pleasant thought of his mother made Carl smile.

Rick's eyes brightened at what had become a rare sight: Carl smiling. "You realize you're smiling, Carl, right?"

"Yeah," Carl muttered bashfully. "Maybe you're right. Maybe if I had seen them I would've asked you we had to take them with us."

"The Woodburians weren't our enemies, Carl, the Governor was," Rick said.

"Yeah…I guess," Carl agreed.

Rick patted Carl on the shoulder and then he stood up. "Speaking about the Woodburians, I have to get Henry Matheson and start inspecting the damage around here."

As Rick turned around to leave the cell block, Carl shouted, "Dad!"

Rick looked over his shoulder at his son, "Yes?"

"Can I go with you?" Carl asked hopefully.

Rick smiled. "Sure."

Carl smiled and he walked alongside Rick as they headed towards the doorway to the common room. "Dad?" Carl asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can I go with you on that supply run you talked about?"

Rick stopped in his tracks and looked at Carl.

"Please?" Carl whined. "I just want to help the group like I did last winter, or when we and Michonne drove back to King County to find those guns."

Rick looked at the Stetson hat in his left hand and he placed it on Carl's head. "I'll think about it."

Carl adjusted the Stetson's fit and smiled broadly as he looked up at his father and they both resumed their walk and entered the common room. As they walked towards the side door, Rick saw Carol, sitting at a table and looking up at the barred windows; he didn't say anything to her. A moment later, Rick and Carl reached the side door, he opened it, and he and Carl stepped onto the courtyard.

•••

In Cell Block D, The Woodburians did their best to resume their routine: the children were on the courtyard playing with the few toys they brought with them, or they were playing basketball at the basketball hoop set up in front of Cell Block C. The adults in the common room also had a few diversions: the men were reading dog-eared paperback books, or they were playing chess or backgammon, and the women were washing the dishes and plastic cups from breakfast. The Woodburians self-appointed leader and Vietnam Veteran John Boyd, and his wife Donna, walked amongst the group and stopped occasionally to ask how they were and what they needed.

"The oatmeal is going to run out in a few days, John. You need to talk to Rick about that," Donna said to her husband.

"I will, Hon, soon as he's good enough to grace us with his presence," John quipped.

"Jesus, will you cut it out?" Donna pleaded. "Rick isn't the Governor."

"What makes you say that, Donna? Is it because he was a cop? If anything, that makes Rick twice as dangerous."

Donna looked around the common room to see that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation and leaned in closer to her husband. "John, don't do anything that could get us thrown out, please?" she whispered.

John took hold of Donna's hand, and patted it. "Don't worry, Hon," he smiled.

The barred door to the vestibule opened and the black, retired postal worker Floyd Townsend appeared with a paperback book about Negro League Baseball. "Hey, John!" he called out.

The Vietnam Veteran turned around and watched with concern as Floyd walked down the vestibule's steps. "Is something wrong, Floyd?" he asked.

"Maybe," Floyd answered as he made his way through the Woodburians. "That redneck just left; took the Dodge, not his motorcycle."

"Merle's kid brother left?" Donna asked.

"Yeah," Floyd answered.

"Again?" John asked incredulously. "He left yesterday with that grey haired lady to get his big brother and bury him in their group's sorry cemetery; did he get word that somebody else in his family croaked?"

"I don't know," Floyd said, as he took off his heavy rimmed glasses and ran his wrist across his forehead. "But I was sitting on the benches, reading, when I watched Dixon drive up to that cop car Rick's using as a gate, and leaned on the horn until Eddie moved it out of the way. Rick watched the whole thing from the courtyard."

"What's going on, John?" Donna asked as she looked up at her husband fearfully.

John waved a hand dismissively. "I don't know, Hon. But I do know that we've got problems of our own to worry about."

"Rick said there are walkers in the prison's hallways, maybe they're breaking into Cell Block D," Floyd said, as his arms dropped to his sides; his paperback book fell to the floor with a light thud.

"What are you three talking about?" Michael Garrett asked worriedly, as he adjusted his glasses; his wife Alicia, was by his side.

Fear started to creep into the other Woodburians and they began asking questions. Floyd put his glasses back on, and John raised his hands to signal quiet.

"It's okay folks, we were just talking some bullshit," John grinned. "It seems that Merle's kid brother left again without saying where he was going, but Floyd's imagination is running wild as to the reason why."

"Hey…what…?!" Floyd stammered in surprise.

John slapped the retired postal worker on the shoulder. "Shut up, Floyd, you're scaring everybody."

"Are you sure everything's all right, John?" Alicia asked.

"Affirmative," The Vietnam Veteran said confidently. "If Cell Block D was being overrun, we'd have heard screams and gunshots."

The Woodburians talked worriedly amongst themselves and John said, "Remember that Rick's people have all the guns in this prison; except for Betsy," The Vietnam Veteran patted the walnut grips of the Colt 1911 in the holster on his hip.

"That son of a bitch," Greg Manning spat. "If we're going stay here, Rick's got to give us some guns!"

One half of the Woodburians cheered in approval, but the others groaned with disgust.

"Are you crazy?" Alicia asked. "Half of our people were murdered two days ago, and you want to start handing out guns?"

"Listen lady, I just want stay alive," Greg said curtly to the blonde woman.

"Of course, we all do. But guns aren't the answer."

"Then what **is** the answer?!" Greg shouted. "Is it that we should believe that a rube cop can protect us? We believed in the Governor, and he slaughtered our friends!"

Michael put arm around Alicia's shoulders, and pulled her to his side protectively. "Hey, don't talk to my wife that—"

"Gregg's right, we should have guns too!" a man shouted.

The Woodburians had become divided into two camps, and they were arguing louder than before. Donna stepped forward and tugged on her husband's arm. "John, what the hell did you do?" she whispered.

"All I did was tell everyone the prison was safe, Donna," John answered.

"What about that crap about the guns?"

"Rick told them about the walkers in the prison's hallways yesterday; don't you think they'd start demanding guns for protection sooner or later?"

Donna started to protest, but couldn't think of an argument; she let go of John's hand and lowered her head in defeat.

John watched the Woodburians argue for a few moments, and he raised his hands again and shouted, "At ease!" until they quieted down. "Okay ya'll, calm the hell down and go about your business. I promise ya'll have more to worry about from boredom that you do walkers. When I see Rick, I'll talk to him about giving us some guns. Hell, I'll even talk to him about a trip to Woodbury to pick up the rest of our stuff."

John's announcement was greeted with cheers and applause. John grinned and he and a quiet Donna resumed going about the common room talking to people. Floyd, humiliated by John's words and actions, picked up his book; then he walked towards the vestibule door, up the steps and out of Cell Block D.

•••

The vestibule door to Cell Block D opened and Greg appeared; he walked down the steps, across the common room towards the table where John and Donna sat, and bent down to whisper in the Vietnam Veteran's ear. "Rick's coming."

John nodded and stood up when Donna took hold of his hand. John looked down, and saw the worried expression on his wife's face.

"Dear, please…," Donna begged quietly.

"Relax, Hon," John smiled as he patted Donna's hand. "I'm just going to talk to Rick."

Donna smiled nervously and let go of John's hand; John smiled at his wife again and he walked towards the vestibule door with Greg following behind him.

•••

John stood on the landing to Cell Block D, and watched Rick and Carl Grimes walking towards him. "Look, its Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday," he quipped.

Gregg, standing in the vestibule's doorframe, chuckled in agreement.

"Good morning," Rick said.

"Really?" John asked, with a smirk on his face.

Rick tilted his head for a moment. "What's that supposed to mean, John?" he asked.

"I heard Dixon skedaddled on you a while ago, Rick," John answered. "If a guy like him would just up and leave, maybe this prison isn't as safe as you promised."

Carl put his hands on his hips and huffed audibly. Rick looked down at his son; Carl saw his father's disapproving expression, and put his hands down and stood straight.

"For your information, Daryl went on a hunt," Rick answered curtly as he looked back at John. "And as for the prison, it's safer than Woodbury; remember that my people and I snuck into that town twice in one night."

John folded his arms across his chest as he glared at Rick. "That redneck damn well better come back with a lot of meat, because my people are starving."

"If Daryl brings back some game, it'll go to the crew replacing the gate; it'll be a tough job and they'll need their strength."

"Fuck that!" John shouted as he unfolded his arms and placed his hand on the grip of his Colt 1911 pistol. "First we lost our friends, and then we lost our home. Any meat Dixon brings back should go to us!"

Rick glared at John and rested his hand on the grip of his Colt Python revolver. Carl followed his father's example and placed his hand on the grip of his Beretta 92FS pistol. "The meat is going to the crew that replaces the gate," Rick said firmly.

John's eyes darted from Rick to Carl, and he realized he was outgunned, so he took his hand off his pistol. "I've got starving people in this cell block, Grimes, some of them are kids," he said with less spite than before.

Rick kept his hand on his service revolver, but his expression softened a bit. "I know, John. I know your people are hungry, mine are too. But replacing that gate is a priority, and if Daryl brings back some game, the meat is going to the crew. Once the new gate is installed, we'll put a group together and go out on a run for food."

John's eyes brightened and he looked over his shoulder again at Gregg, who looked similarly interested.

"If there's going to be a food run, I want in," John said as he looked back at Rick.

"Me too," Gregg volunteered, raising his hand.

A smile twitched upon Rick's face and he looked over at Carl, who was smiling too.

"I haven't decided on who I'm taking with me," Rick said as he looked back at John, "but I'll think about it."

John thought over Rick's announcements for a while, and asked, "How about going to Woodbury? We left a lot of food behind."

Rick shook his head. "It depends on what Michonne tells us about Woodbury when she gets back."

John smirked, his courage rekindled temporarily. "A black woman armed a samurai sword against a one-eyed nutcase, his two toadies, and their automatic rifles? She's as good as dead."

Rick glared at John again. "Michonne will be back."

John felt a chill run down his back like he hadn't felt since his first firefight in Vietnam and he broke his gaze on Rick. "Uh, yeah, of course she will," he muttered.

"Is Henry busy at the moment?" Rick asked.

"I don't know," John answered as he looked at Rick again.

Rick and Carl glanced at each other and smiled; then Rick looked back at John and gestured at the cell block. "I'd like to talk to him."

John looked over his shoulder and nodded at Gregg, who returned the gesture and disappeared into the cell block's vestibule. John looked uncomfortably at Rick and Carl until someone tapped him on the shoulder. John turned around and saw construction foreman Henry Matheson; Gregg wasn't with him.

"Rick wants to talk to you," John said as he stepped aside.

Henry walked past John and stepped onto the landing, tucked under his arm was a clipboard with a few sheets of graph paper attached to it. "Morning, Rick," he said with a nod.

Rick nodded. "Good morning, Henry."

"Can I help you?"

"Actually, I think you can help all of us."

Henry walked down the steps of Cell Block D and stood in front of Rick. "You're talking about a new gate, right?" he asked eagerly.

Rick nodded.

Henry smiled broadly and took the clipboard from under his arm. "Great!" he said cheerfully as he flipped through the graph paper. "Last night I made some designs for a new gate, and I think this is the one!"

Henry turned the clipboard around and offered it to Rick, who took it with both hands. Carl took a step closer to his father's side and looked at the design curiously. The design was drawn in blur ink, and featured two metal doors that opened and closed by means of a pulley system.

Rick studied the design and nodded impressively. "It looks good, Henry."

Henry smiled in appreciation.

"How do we build that thing?" Carl asked.

"If we're lucky most of the materials are on-site," Henry answered as he tapped the design with his index finger. "But before we start construction I'll need the exact dimensions of the old gate."

"Can you build this finished in a day Henry?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," the construction foreman nodded. "Just give me the tools, the people, and keep those damn walkers off my ass."

"We will on all three counts," Rick said. "Now let's measure the old gate, we'll get some people, split up into groups, and check the prison for materials later."

Rick, Carl, and Henry walked across the courtyard and downhill to the fence line where Tyreese Williams and Eddie Nowak guarded the squad car that served as a temporary gate; John, standing atop the steps to Cell Block D, watched them go as his courage slowly returned.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Daryl—wearing his Navajo Indian design poncho—drove the Dodge Ram 1500 truck down the deserted street at a moderate speed. Unlike yesterday, he didn't have to speed downhill to get past a group of walkers, and he didn't have Carol beside him to worry about; today was going to be a quiet day of hunting, but he was going to use the drive time to think, and there was plenty for him to think about.

The first thing on Daryl's mind was hunting game:

The only food left in the prison was oatmeal, and Daryl was already sick of having it for his three squares a day. Rick said he'd put a group together for a food run after they finished rebuilding the prison, but Daryl wasn't going to wait for Rick's stomach to start growling. He looked down at his old Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow lying on the passenger seat and grinned; it would be bittersweet to use his old crossbow on a hunt again.

Daryl thought the best place to hunt would be Yellow Jacket Creek. The water was clear, its path wide, and the trees along the creek bed offered plenty of places for him to hide and wait for game to wander along.

Daryl wasn't worried about running into walkers or scavengers; what worried him was the amount of meat he would bring back to the prison. Last year, when the world had gone to shit, killing a few rabbits or even squirrels had gone a long way to feed the group. But now that Rick had taken in the civilians from Woodbury, the group's numbers had doubled. No matter what Daryl caught, people would still be stuck with eating oatmeal tonight.

Another thing on Daryl's mind was Merle. Daryl scowled and he gripped the steering wheel tightly as he thought about his older brother:

•••

A few days ago, Merle tried to carry out the deal the Governor had offered Rick: If you want peace, give me Michonne. But the more time Merle spent with Michonne, and listened to her say that he was throwing away his chance at starting over, the more he realized he couldn't go through with the deal. Merle stopped the car, let Michonne go, and continued on to the feed mill.

Back at the prison, Rick had changed his mind about the deal, but he and Daryl discovered Merle had left with Michonne. Daryl went after them, but he found Michonne making her way back to the prison. Daryl continued on with the hope of stopping Merle in time.

Daryl approached the feed mill cautiously with his new Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow at the ready. It was the aftermath of Merle's ambush and walkers were feasting on dozens of the Governor's dead soldiers. One walker sensed that someone was behind it, so Daryl aimed down his crossbow's iron sights and squeezed the trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the back of the walker's head and stuck out its forehead, and it fell dead across the Woodburian soldier that had been its meal.

Daryl kept moving in search for Merle, and he had just removed an arrow from his crossbow's quiver when he saw a walker feasting on the corpse of a young man. The walker looked up with blood and flesh dripping from its mouth and Daryl's arms fell to his sides and it felt like his heart dropped into his stomach.

The walker was Merle.

Daryl started to weep and his crossbow and arrow fell to the ground. The walker Merle stood up and Daryl saw the single bullet hole in his big brother's chest. It stepped over the young corpse it had been eating and staggered towards Daryl.

Daryl cowered like he did as a boy when his father, with a leather strap in his hand, staggered drunkenly towards him, vowing to whip his youngest son "Within an inch of his miserable fucking life".

The walker Merle was nearly upon Daryl, and he shoved it away. It staggered towards him again, and this time Daryl shoved it hard enough to spin it around. The walker Merle staggered towards Daryl a third time, and Daryl shoved it back for a third time. Daryl unsheathed the Busse Team Gemini knife at his side, and when the walker Merle staggered towards him a fourth time, Daryl lunged forward, stabbing it in the shoulder, and the momentum of Daryl's leap sent them both falling to the ground. Daryl sat up, pulled his knife free, and began stabbing the walker Merle in the forehead until his grief got the better of him and he fell backwards and wept uncontrollably.

•••

Daryl gripped the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white. Merle was dead and buried in the group's small cemetery at the prison, but his big brother's death still hurt for several reasons: because Merle could've gone back with Michonne, because Rick put the damn idea about the trade into Merle's head, because Merle died for the group but the majority of them didn't give a shit, and because it had been the first time Merle did anything for someone else and it wound up getting him killed.

Then Daryl remembered what Carol told him the morning after Merle died. " _He gave us a chance"._

Daryl loosened his grip on the steering wheel and his expression relaxed. Carol was right. The group wouldn't have won the war if they went up against the Governor's army. Yes, Rick, Michonne, and Carl brought back plenty of guns and ammo from their trip to Castle Rock County, but the Governor had the numbers and an experienced crew of killers. After Merle's ambush, the Governor was forced to build a militia from the civilians of Woodbury, and Rick used their inexperience against them.

The Governor and his militia attacked the prison, entered Cell Block C, and found it seemingly abandoned. The Governor then entered the prison's dark hallways; which the group had nicknamed the tombs.

The Governor fell right into Rick's trap.

The prison alarms rang, flash bangs exploded, and the walkers that lurked inside the tombs staggered towards the disoriented and frightened militia. Within seconds, they dropped their weapons and ran out of Cell Block C, where they were met by Glenn and Maggie, who were hiding behind pallets stacked across the catwalk overlooking the prison's courtyard. Glenn and Maggie fired their guns into the air, scaring the militia either further. Within moments, they leapt into their vehicles and sped back to Woodbury.

The group won the war, and it was Merle's sacrifice that helped make it possible. But the Governor had escaped; he slaughtered his own militia soon after their retreat from the prison, and he had caused Andrea's death in a secret torture chamber in Woodbury. Daryl swore that after Merle's burial he was going to find that weaselly son of a bitch, and rip out his other eye, and he'd throw the rest to Michonne.

But Daryl understood that revenge would have to wait a while longer; the group at the prison needed to be fed and they needed to be safe, and that led to the last, but most bothersome thing on his mind…Carol:

Yesterday, Daryl reluctantly accepted Carol's help bringing back Merle's corpse for burial, but they were the ones who nearly had a funeral when they got into a gunfight with a Latino gang that happened across the feed mill. Daryl was furious at himself for letting Carol accompany him on a personal mission, but he admitted it then, and he admitted it now: she saved his ass.

Carol had come a long way from the timid, abused housewife Daryl had met at the quarry outside Atlanta. When the group was forced to abandon Hershel's farm, and live on the road, he protected her and taught her how to shoot whenever ammo could be spared. Daryl also had to admit that Carol had looked after him too, making sure he ate during the lean times and had warm clothing when the winter season arrived. And yesterday, Carol held his hand during Merle's funeral. Daryl blushed at that memory; he and Carol did a good job of looking out for each other.

Daryl looked to his right and saw he had reached the stretch of road where the forest and trees were briefly replaced by open fields, so he turned the steering wheel in that direction and the Dodge Ram 1500 plowed across the field like a lone buffalo roaming across the Great Plains of the West.

•••

Daryl parked the truck amongst a sparse clearing in the forest; he thought it was a necessary precaution: the bridge across Yellow Jacket Creek was an idea ambush spot for scavengers, and more importantly, the sight or sound of the truck, or the smell of its exhaust, would frighten any game along the creek.

Daryl picked up his Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow from the passenger seat, and climbed out of the truck. Daryl put the truck's keys in his jean's pocket, closed the truck door softly, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder as he looked around the forest; there wasn't an animal or a threat in sight. Daryl took a deep breath, and began walking slowly through the forest. As Daryl made his way to Yellow Jacket Creek, he thought about his first interaction with Carol back at the quarry outside Atlanta:

•••

Daryl held the axe in his hands and brought it down onto the log placed atop a stump.

WHUKK!

The axe's blade cut the log in two and stuck in the stump. Daryl pulled the axe free and caught movement out of the corner of his right eye, so he stood straight and looked in that direction to see Shane leading Ed Peletier out of the camp. Yesterday at dinner, Ed grabbed Carol's wrist and threatened to beat her unless she gave him a bigger portion of rabbit stew, so Daryl threw the bastard on the ground, and twisted his right wrist behind his back and made him scream until Shane put Daryl in a chokehold and pulled him away. Today, Ed's wrist was wrapped in gauze, and when he saw Daryl glaring at him, he turned white, looked at the ground, and ran ahead of Shane.

Daryl snorted in contempt; he bent down, picked up another log from the pile, set it atop the stump, and brought the axe down harder than before.

WHUKK!

Daryl pulled the axe free from the stump and watched as Shane lectured Ed. They were too far away for Daryl to eavesdrop, but he heard Shane say words such as "domestic abuse", "won't be tolerated", and "stick together". Ed was nodding at Shane's statements in a disinterred manner. Finally, Ed said, "I won't do it again."

"All right," Shane nodded, and he slapped Ed's shoulder like he would a teammate. The two men went their separate ways: Shane smiling proudly at the way he handled the situation; Ed annoyed like he'd been given a ticket for littering. Daryl shook his head in disgust; he picked up another log, set it on the stump, and then he raised the axe and brought it down, splitting the log in two.

WHUKK!

"Excuse me, Mr. Dixon," a timid voice said behind him.

Daryl looked over his shoulder and saw Carol Peletier standing timidly a few feet away, her arms folded across her chest. Her young daughter Sophia stood behind her slightly, looking at Daryl with a mixture of fear and awe.

Daryl pulled the axe free and leaned it against the stump before he turned around to face Carol. "What do you want?" he asked as he wiped his hands clean.

"I…I just wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday," Carol answered.

"What? You mean when I kicked your husband's fat ass?"

Carol looked down at the ground and she squeezed her upper arms nervously. "I mean when you pulled Ed away from me," she answered when she looked at Daryl again.

Daryl looked at the timid housewife for a moment and he nodded in appreciation. "You're welcome."

Carol blinked; it was clear to Daryl that she didn't expect him to respond positively, if at all. "Well, Ed usually isn't so ill-tempered," she said hurriedly. "It's just that those monsters are everywhere and we're all scared and tired and hungry—"

"Stop, there's enough bullshit in this camp already," Daryl interrupted.

Carol's eyes widened and Sophia giggled.

"W-what do you mean?" Carol asked nervously.

Daryl nodded towards Shane, who was talking to the widow, Lori Grimes. "Do you believe that cop's speeches about the army marchin' on Atlanta like Sherman did?"

"You mean Deputy Walsh?" Carol asked as she glanced at Shane, who had said something that made Lori smile. "Yes, I do."

Daryl snorted in amusement.

"I'm serious, Mr. Dixon. Ed told me the government set up special training programs for police departments across the country in case of another 9/11. Maybe the police were told to collect survivors and stay outside a major city and wait until they were rescued?"

Daryl looked at Carol and noticed that her eyes were pleading for him to believe in Shane Walsh; he picked up a log and set it on the stump. "Maybe," he said as he picked up the axe.

Carol smiled and she hugged Sophia to her side. "Well, I've bothered you long enough, Mr. Dixon. Thank you again."

Carol and Sophia turned around and walked away. Daryl watched them leave, and saw they were standing taller and walking with confidence. He grinned, turned back to the stump, raised the axe, and brought it down onto the log.

WHUKK!

•••

Daryl realized he was grinning now and he stopped in his tracks; he unslung the crossbow from his shoulder, thumbed its safety "off" brought it up to his shoulder as he checked the forest: he was alone.

Daryl lowered the crossbow and cursed himself silently; if a walker had staggered along while he was remembering that brief talk with Carol, he'd have gotten his throat bitten out and he likely never would've known it.

 _That would've been a dumbass way to die,_ Daryl thought. _I can't imagine what Merle would say if he saw me behind the Pearly Gates: "What the fuck happened to you, brother? Did one of those stinkin' walker females make love, sweet love to you?"_

Daryl chuckled in amusement and resumed his slow walk through the forest. He spotted some deer tracks and knelt down to inspect them: they looked to be a day or two old. Daryl stood up and continued on with more vigor until he stopped again when his nose caught the smell of fresh water; Yellow Jacket Creek was up ahead.

A few minutes later Daryl walked out of the tree line and saw Yellow Jacket Creek. He looked to his left, and saw the bridge in the distance; the abandoned vehicles were still atop it.

Daryl turned to his left and approached the bridge cautiously: he didn't see a barricade in front of it, he didn't see a lookout, and he didn't see or hear any camp activity, so there were no thieves to worry about. He stood at the front of the bridge, lowered his crossbow, and looked at the abandoned vehicles and the dead walkers scattered across it. This was the spot where Daryl risked his life to save a family of Mexicans from walkers, and later put his crossbow to the back of Merle's head to stop him from robbing them of their supplies; he realized now this was the place where he stepped out of Merle's shadow and became his own man. Daryl turned to his left and continued walking along the banks of Yellow Jacket Creek.

A few moments later Daryl stopped in his tracks when he saw two sets of boot prints in the mud: they were his and Merle's boot prints. Daryl followed them into the forest and began to tremble when he reached the spot where the ground had been disturbed: it was the spot where Merle had knocked him down. Daryl leaned against a thin tree and stared at that spot as he remembered his last argument with Merle:

•••

"What the shit were you doin' pointin' that thing at me?" Mere asked angrily as he followed Daryl into the woods.

"They were scared, man," Daryl answered.

"They were rude is what they were," Merle said as he caught up to Daryl. "Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude."

"They didn't owe us nothin'."

"You helpin' people out of the goodness of your heart, even though you might die doin' it. Is that somethin' your Sherriff Rick taught you?"

Daryl spun around and looked at Merle. "There was a baby!" he shouted.

"Oh, otherwise you would've just left them to the biters then?" Merle asked.

Daryl stared at Merle in disbelief when the reason for his brother's anger suddenly struck him: He had just risked his life to save a family of strangers, while a year ago Merle was handcuffed atop a roof, and cut off his own hand to escape.

"Man, I went back for you! You weren't there!" Daryl explained."I didn't cut off your hand neither. You did that! Way before they locked you up on that roof!" Daryl shouted as he pointed at Merle's stump with his arrow. "You asked for it!"

Merle paced to his right and to his left, shaking his head, grinning; it looked like he didn't know if he should shout or laugh. "You know…you know what's funny to me, hmm? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now, right, hmm?" Merle held up his left hand with two fingers crossed together. "I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold, huh, that you never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

Daryl glared at Merle. "It didn't happen'."

"Yeah, it didn't. 'Cause I wasn't there to help you!" Merle pointed out.

Daryl took a step forward. "Like when we were kids, huh?" he asked angrily. "Who left who then?!"

"What?! Huh?! Is that why I lost my hand?!"

"You lost your hand because you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" Daryl shouted before he turned around to walk away.

Merle grabbed the back of Daryl's shirt and pulled him backwards. His younger brother lost his footing and fell to the ground. "Yeah?! You don't know—"

Merle's eyes widened and he went pale the instant he saw Daryl's back. He knew about his little brother's two devils tattoos, but there were several scars across his back, just like the ones on Merle's own back. Merle thought instantly of their drunken father, whipping him with a leather strap through his late childhood and into his late teens.

Daryl, embarrassed that Merle discovered their father had whipped him too, shoved his brother's arm away and pulled his torn shirt over his back.

"I…I didn't know he was—"Merle stammered in shock.

"Yeah, he did," Daryl interrupted as he slung his backpack on. "He did the same to you. That's why you left first."

"I had to man," Merle explained desperately. "I would've killed him otherwise."

Daryl picked up his crossbow and arrow, stood up, and began walking away.

"Where are you goin'?" Merle asked with a tinge of fear in his voice.

Daryl stopped walking and faced Merle. "Back where I belong," he answered.

"I can't go with you!" Merle said defeated. "I…I tried to kill that black bitch! Damn near killed the Chinese kid!"

"He's Korean," Daryl corrected him.

"Whatever," Merle said in frustration. "Doesn't matter man, I just can't go with you!"

Daryl lowered his head. He understood what Merle meant, but he was disappointed that Merle wasn't going to try to start over. During the days spent on Hershel's farm, Daryl felt that he didn't belong with the group, but he gave it a chance, and he realized they had become his family.

"You know, I may be the one walkin' away, but you're the one who's leavin'…again." Daryl said as he waved his arrow. And with that, Daryl did indeed walk away, and he didn't look back. A minute later he heard Merle rushing to catch up with him, and side-by-side they walked back to the prison.

•••

The memory of that last argument over, Daryl slid down the tree and sat on the ground. Tears were running down his face, and he wiped them away quickly; he was also breathing heavily, and when he composed himself, he looked at the spot where he and Merle argued.

"You could've gone back, Merle, but we'd all be dead if you had," Daryl confessed. "You gave us a chance, a chance to live again. Thank you, brother. I love you."

Daryl didn't bother to stand up. Instead, he crossed his legs Indian style and rested his crossbow atop his knees. He watched and listened for game or a threat, but the forest was quiet as a church.

•••

How much time had passed? Daryl glanced up at the sun, and he estimated the time had to have been 15 minutes. Knowing he was never going to find game just sitting underneath a tree, Daryl stood up on his numb feet and stomped them back to life one at a time.

A branch rustled in the distance. Daryl raised his head slowly and saw the branch swaying back and forth, a creature was moving below it, but the underbrush in front prevented Daryl from telling if it was an animal or a walker. Daryl raised his crossbow slowly and waited for the creature to step out into the open.

There was a rustle in the underbrush and as the creature stepped out into the open, it was a six point white tail deer; it raised its head and it was chewing on some grass. When it saw Daryl, it stopped chewing and its eyes widened as if it was started by his presence.

Daryl stood still but his heart began to thump inside his chest. The deer apparently decided that Daryl wasn't a threat and it resumed chewing its meal.

 _Why the hell hasn't it bolted?_ Daryl wondered. _Is it because I ain't a walker?_

The deer swallowed its meal, turned to its left, and took a few steps; it looked down at a patch of grass and lowered its head to eat again. Daryl brought his crossbow up to his shoulder and aimed through its red dot sights. The dot lined up with the spot where the deer's heart was, and Daryl slowly wrapped his finger around the crossbow's trigger.

The deer raised its head, glanced at Daryl out of the corner of its eye, and began chewing its meal.

Daryl squeezed the trigger.

THUNK!

The arrow struck the dears heart; its eyes widened in shock and it screamed in pain as the chewed grass fell out of its open mouth. The deer made a mad dash to escape and it bounced off the trees like a pinball bouncing off bumpers.

Daryl lowered his crossbow and watched the dying animal towards Yellow Jacket Creek. On one hand he was glad to have found game to bring back to the prison, but on the other hand he was sorry to kill an animal that had managed to survive in this world for as long as it did.

Daryl lowered the barrel of his crossbow to the ground, slipped his foot in the stirrup, pulled back the string until it locked; he slipped his foot out of the stirrup, held the crossbow in his hand and pulled an arrow out of the quiver as he ran after his prey.

The dying deer left behind a blood trail along with its own hoof prints, which illustrated its great stride and desperation to escape, but Daryl soon caught sight of the slowing animal, and it leaped out of the tree line and slid to a stop along the creek bed. Daryl slowed down, and when he stepped out of the tree line, he loaded the new arrow on the crossbow's flight groove and approached the dying animal cautiously.

The deer was lying on its left side, kicking and gasping for air. Daryl walked behind it to avoid its legs and stepped around its head so they could look each other in the eye; he felt he owed it that courtesy. The deer's eyes were pleading, as if it was asking why Daryl had killed it. Daryl, unable to watch the animal suffer, aimed his crossbow over its heart, and squeezed the trigger.

THUNK!

Unlike the first arrow, the second went through the deer's heart. The dying animal jerked when the arrow hit it, and Daryl leapt backwards to avoid its thrashing head and limbs. The deer opened its mouth to scream, but a raspy gust of air came out instead. The deer's thrashing continued for a few seconds and then it went still and died. Daryl stood respectfully for a minute, and then he walked over to the dead animal, put his foot on its chest, and pulled the first arrow free, and with a bit more effort, pulled out the second.

•••

Daryl, with the deer draped over his shoulder, returned to the Dodge Ram 1500 truck. He set his crossbow down against the truck, dug the keys out of his jeans pocket, opened the tailgate, and placed the deer on the truck bed. Daryl then closed the tailgate, pulled off his poncho and let it fall to the ground as he spun around, leaned against the tailgate and exhaled wearily.

 _I'm sorry about the deer, but I had to do it. We're damn close to starvin',"_ Daryl thought. He dug into his leather vest's pocket, and took out his pack of Marlboro cigarettes; he put one between his lips, flicked open his nickel plated Zippo lighter, and lit the cigarette. He took a drag on the cigarette and blew out the smoke.

 _There's goin' to be a lot of happy faces when they see this deer,_ Daryl thought to assuage his guilt. But he almost bit down on the cigarette when the image of the one person in the group he wanted to see smiling flashed through his mind: Carol.

 _Why does that woman always stick her nose in my business?_ Daryl asked himself. _I didn't find her little girl in time. I almost got her killed yesterday bringin' Merle back to the prison. She doesn't owe me nothin'._

 _Maybe she likes me,_ Daryl thought _._

Daryl blinked and then he took another drag on the cigarette and blew out the smoke. _Why should she? I'm white trash, wearin' rags; I've got scars and tattoos, and I hunt squirrels in my spare time. I ain't exactly George Clooney._

 _She don't give a damn about that,_ Daryl corrected himself. _She's not just keepin' an eye on you because you're part of the damn group. She likes you._

 _She shouldn't,_ Daryl thought.

 _How about you?_ Daryl asked himself. D _on't you look out for her? And what was the first thing you did when you woke up from your nap yesterday? You checked to see if she was sleepin' like a baby. You like her much as she likes you._

Daryl took the cigarette out of his mouth, ran a hand through his hair angrily, and stomped around the tailgate. _Bullshit!_ Daryl thought. _Yeah, I care about her, but not like that! Hell, I used to go out with bar maids and biker groupies! How am I gonna treat a woman like Carol?_

 _A hell of a lot better than her dirt bag husband did_.

That thought made Daryl stop walking around and lean back against the truck's tailgate again. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, took a drag on it, and blew out the smoke.

 _I…I want to make Carol happy, but I've got a lot of shit to do,_ Daryl thought. _I have to find the Governor. I have to help rebuild the prison—_

 _Michonne probably killed the one-eyed bastard already,_ Daryl scolded himself. _And as for the prison, Rick's got new people to rebuild it; you told him that yourself. The old world ain't comin' back; nothin' left but you, her, and time. So are you goin' to take Hershel's sermon to heart and live again?_

Daryl looked up at the sky again; took another drag on the cigarette, blew out the smoke, and thought, _Maybe._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

A prison squad car was parked in front of the open space in the fence line that was once covered by the gate, and behind the squad car were Tyreese and Eddie. Eddie sat in a folding chair he placed against the guard tower; one of Rick's shotguns was across his lap. Tyreese was leaning against the driver's side door, with his hands folded across his chest as he looked down at his boots. Another one of Rick's shotguns was lying across the hood of the squad car along with Tyreese's claw hammer, which was stained with blood and brain matter. On the opposite side of the squad car were half a dozen dead walkers; their skulls had been smashed open and they had been dragged to the side to keep the road clear.

"Are you okay, son?" Eddie asked with concern.

Tyreese took a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded.

"Look on the bright side: your sister didn't see you kill them."

"She's seen me kill walkers before," Tyreese said angrily.

Eddie leaned forward. "Hey, that's the point: they aren't people; not anymore."

"That doesn't make killing them any easier," Tyreese said as he looked at the older man.

Eddie sighed and sat back in the chair, "Pansy," he muttered in frustration.

Silence hung over the two men until Eddie yawned tiredly. "Dammit, I'm beat."

Tyreese yawned too, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"We should've been relieved by now. What the hell is going on up there?" Eddie asked as he looked up at the prison.

"I don't know," Tyreese answered.

"Why the hell did Dixon take off again? He buried Merle yesterday, right?"

Tyreese shrugged.

"What about Michonne? She went after the Governor, right? God knows someone ought to. Do you think she'll find him?"

"I hope she doesn't."

Eddie blinked. "Excuse me?"

Tyreese looked at the older man again. "Let's say she finds him and kills him. What does that make her?"

Eddie didn't answer.

"That makes her a killer! Just like him."

Eddie picked up the shotgun from his lap and stood up from the chair. "Hey, did you forget our friends were slaughtered a few miles up this road by that crazy son of a bitch?"

Tyreese lowered his head as he remembered the night he, Sasha, Karen, and the civilians of Woodbury were aboard one of the town's buses, following Rick, Michonne, and Daryl back to the prison. They drove past the massacre sight and everyone looked out the bus' windows as its headlights gave them a brief, horrific look of their friends and neighbors lying dead along the side of the road.

The memory over, Tyreese looked up at Eddie. "I'll never forget them," he answered.

Eddie nodded. "Good. Let it be a lesson of what happens when we leave one person in charge."

Tyreese turned around and put his arms on the roof of the squad car, while Eddie faced the open road and rested the shotgun's barrel on his shoulder. A minute later, Tyreese looked at Eddie and asked, "What does that mean?"

Eddie's eyes widened and he looked at Tyreese. "What?" he asked.

"You just said 'Let it be a lesson of what happens when we leave one person in charge.' You got a problem with Rick?"

Eddie lowered the shotgun and faced Tyreese. "Uh, no," he said unconvincingly.

"So what were you saying?"

Eddie looked down and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. "I've just been thinking about what John's been saying about Rick lately."

Eddie looked up at Tyreese and saw the former NFL player was looking back at him bewilderedly.

"Oh, come on," Eddie said with more confidence. "The man aimed his gun at your face and chased you and your group out of this prison. Doesn't that remind you of the last man we trusted our lives with?"

"Rick isn't the Governor," Tyreese said.

"Why, is it because he took all of us in?" Eddie asked angrily. "So did the Governor! He welcomed every person or group that our patrols brought back to Woodbury. He had the doc check them out, he gave them a meal, a roof over their heads, and beds to sleep in, and in the morning he gave them two options: they could have a car with a full tank of gas and all the supplies they could carry, or they could stay in Woodbury.

"Well, they stayed, Tyreese. So did I, and so did you and Sasha. Now, most of those people were slaughtered by that nutcase, and the ones still alive are either too young or too old to help keep this prison from collapsing like a house of cards."

Tyreese walked over to Eddie and put a reassuring hand on the older man's shoulder. "You weren't the only one he played. But Rick is the genuine article. This prison is going to be different from Woodbury."

Eddie brushed Tyreese's hand away. "Do you really believe that?" he asked.

Tyreese nodded. "Yeah. You weren't there when we found Andrea; a prisoner in that warehouse, dying from a bite and with Milton, turned and dead, lying nearby. Me, Michonne, and Daryl took her death hard, but Rick held it together, like Peyton Manning did with the Indianapolis Colts. Rick's the leader we need, Eddie, I know it."

Eddie looked at Tyreese for a few moments. "What if you're wrong, Tyreese? What are we going to do then?"

Tyreese shivered, but he patted Eddie's shoulder. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize, and I've got your back."

Eddie smiled and patted Tyreese's shoulder in return. Both men resumed their guard duties, with Eddie sitting in his chair, and Tyreese leaning against the squad car. A few minutes later Tyreese looked up at the hill that the prison was built on and said, "We've got company."

Eddie looked up hill and saw Rick and Carl Grimes walking down hill towards them. Henry was behind the Grimes' and he was carrying a clipboard. "Speak of the devil," Eddie said as he sat up from his chair.

"Be cool, okay?" Tyreese asked as he stood straight.

"Just be careful what you say to him, or you might get that hand cannon pointed at your face again," Eddie whispered as he stood beside Tyreese.

Tyreese huffed at Eddie's warning, but as Rick got closer, his hands started to tremble.

"Tyreese. Eddie," Rick nodded in greeting as he stood in front of the two guards.

"Rick," Tyreese said with a nod.

Eddie nodded at Rick, but said nothing.

"Was there any trouble last night?" Rick asked.

"Nothing Tyreese couldn't handle," Eddie said as he stood to the side and gestured at the dead walkers lying along the side of the road.

Rick walked past Tyreese and Eddie, and peered over the squad car to get a better look at the five dead walkers. Carl rushed to his father side and looked over the squad car too. Henry grimaced, but was compelled to look at the dead walkers the way he used to look when he drove past a car wreck on the highway.

"You did that with your hammer?" Rick asked as he looked at Tyreese.

"Yeah," Tyreese said shamefully.

"Cool," Carl said in awe.

"Carl," Rick said firmly.

Carl lowered his head in embarrassment when his father scolded him when he asked Daryl if he could go with him earlier.

For a few moments Rick looked up at the frame that once held the gate in place and then he looked over at Henry. "What do you think?" he asked the construction foreman.

Henry took out his blue pen, and turned towards Eddie. "Can you move the car?" he asked.

Eddie looked at Rick, who nodded. Eddie handed the shotgun over to Tyreese, dug the keys into his pockets and opened the squad car's door. "Why don't you ask me to turn the siren on too?" Eddie muttered as he turned the ignition. The car's engine hummed to life, and Eddie slowly moved the squad car forward.

Henry stood underneath the frame and studied its design, pausing frequently to scribble notes on his clipboard. A few minutes later Henry put his blue pen away. "I'm done here, Rick." He said.

"Are you sure?" Rick asked.

"I've worked construction long enough to measure by sight," Henry answered as he slipped the clipboard under his arm. Henry walked away from the frame and Eddie backed the squad car to its spot, killed the engine, and stepped out of the squad car.

"Thanks, Henry. Can you meet us in the courtyard?" Rick asked. "We'll be there in a minute."

"Sure," Henry answered. He waved a hand in farewell at Tyreese and Eddie, and he began walking uphill.

"Tyreese. Eddie," Rick said as he looked at the two men. "I know you're both tired and hungry, but I've got to ask you both to stay on guard a few minutes longer until I can send two volunteers to relive you."

"Okay," Eddie said quickly, fearful of what Rick might do if he said otherwise.

"I…I don't have much of an appetite anyways," Tyreese admitted.

Rick nodded sympathetically. "I know how you feel, Tyreese. But try to eat something."

Tyreese nodded. Rick turned around and began walking uphill with Carl at his side. Tyreese offered the shotgun back to Eddie, who accepted it and sat down in his chair, while Tyreese folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back against the squad car.

•••

Inside Cell Block D, Michael Garrett removed his glasses, took a white cloth out of his shirt pocket, and wiped the lenses clean; he put his glasses back on, put the cloth back in his shirt pocket, and walked up the staircase that led to the second tier. Michael approached the cell he shared with his wife Alicia, and was about to step inside when he froze at what he saw: Alicia stood with her back to the cell's open door, and was staring at a framed picture she held in her hand…a framed picture of their Kim, in her high school graduation gown.

Michael took a deep breath and knocked on the door frame. Alicia spun around, her long, yellow hair waving around her head like a sail. "Oh my God! Michael, you scared me!" she cried.

"I'm sorry, dear," Michael apologized as he stepped inside the cell and embraced Alicia. After a few moments they separated and Alicia at the framed picture she held in her hands.

"I miss her too," Michael said sadly.

Tears ran down Alicia's face and she wiped them away with her fingers. She then sat down on the bottom bunk; Michael sat down beside her with his arm around her shoulders.

"She might still be alive, Alicia," Michael said comfortingly.

Alicia looked at Michael, and her yellow hair waved around her head again, but her blue eyes were red from tears. "She might still be alive?!" she repeated angrily.

Michael held his hands up to signal a stop. "I didn't mean it like that! Kim's alive; I know she is!"

Alicia glared at Michael for a few seconds more, but her anger crumbled and she looked down at the framed photograph of Kim and touched her daughter's cheek with her fingertips. "We should've insisted she attend college in Georgia," she whispered as her tears fell onto the frame's glass.

Michael started to cry too and he put his arms around Alicia and pulled her to his side. "Kim studied hard to be admitted to UCLA. It…it was her dream."

Alicia nodded and she slipped her arm around Michael's waist. Alicia's eyes never left the framed picture of Kim; Michael found himself drawn to it, and he remembered the last time he and Alicia saw their daughter: moving her into her dorm room at UCLA.

"We'll see our daughter again, Alicia." Michael said.

"When?" Alicia asked as she pulled away from Michael. "Remember when we asked the Governor if he could send Merle to Los Angeles and find her? He told us how sympathetic he was about Kim, but he couldn't spare him; we'd have to wait until Woodbury was settled. Well, Woodbury and the Governor are gone. How much longer do we have to wait and pray until we see our baby again?"

"I…I don't know, honey," Michael admitted. "But Rick seems like a good man; maybe after we replace the gate, and fix a few things around this prison, he'll help us find Kim."

Alicia looked down at Kim's photograph one last time. "Maybe," she whispered.

Michael leaned towards Alicia and kissed her temple. "I've got to go," he said.

Alicia looked perplexed at Michael. "You're going?" she asked.

Michael stood up from the bunk and nodded at Alicia. "Guard duty. Rick just asked Juan and I to relieve Eddie and Tyreese at the squad car."

"But…but the walkers..." Alicia stammered as she stood up from the bunk.

"John said he'd give us some axes to handle the walkers. Also, Eddie and Tyreese will give us their shotguns just in case some bad guys try to barge in here."

"What?!" Alicia shouted. "We hate guns, Michael!"

"I know," Michael nodded. "Listen, I'm not even going to pick the thing up; Juan will be the guy carrying the gun."

Alicia clutched Kim's photography to her chest. "But it's still dangerous, Michael. Why didn't you say no?"

Michael stepped forward and placed his hands on Alicia's shoulders. "Because…because I need to help," he explained.

Alicia closed her eyes and nodded; Michael leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Alicia opened her eyes and saw Michael smiling bravely at her, she returned the smile, and Michael walked out of their cell and towards the staircase. Alicia walked out onto the landing and watched Michael walk down the staircase and out of her sight.

•••

It was afternoon inside the common room of Cell Block C. Beth was standing behind the folding table, and atop the folding table were the hotplate and the pot. Beth was stirring the ladle inside the pot, while Herhsel ate a bowl of oatmeal at one of the tables, his crutches leaning against the table behind him. Both Greene's heard the vestibule door slide open and watched as Rick and Carl Grimes walked down the vestibule staircase.

Hershel took a napkin and wiped his mouth. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. You both are just in time to sample Beth's first cooked meal."

Beth looked at Carl and smiled. Carl looked at Beth and blushed.

Rick raised a hand to signal a stop. "Just coffee for me. Thank you."

"Is something wrong, Rick?" Hershel asked with concern.

"Nothing serious," Rick answered as he sat down across from Hershel. "Carl and I have just been rummaging around for any material we can use to rebuild the gate, and I'm worn out."

"I'd like a bowl please," Carl smiled as he walked over to the serving table.

Beth smiled, poured a bowl of oatmeal into a bowl, and gave it to Carl. "Here you go, Carl. Be careful, it's hot."

"Thank you," Carl said with a grin as he took the bow of oatmeal with both hands and sat at the table with his father and Hershel, and started eating greedily. Beth put the ladle down, picked up the coffee pot, and poured it into a cup for Rick; she walked over to the table, and Rick nodded his thanks as he took the cup.

"Any luck with the search?" Hershel asked.

Rick took a sip of coffee and set the cup down on the table. "Well, Henry looked at the iron doors in the woodshop and said we can use two of them to make a new gate. We also found some rope in the motor pool that Henry says we can use as part of a pulley system to operate the gate."

"It sounds like we have a genius in our midst," Hershel smiled.

Rick took a second sip of coffee and stared into his cup. "Maybe I should ask Henry to solve our other problem," he muttered.

"What's that?" Hershel asked.

Rick set the coffee cup down on the table again and looked at Hershel. "Replacing that fence is going to take a lot of work, and our…labor force…is too inexperienced, too old, and too weak.

"Daryl's out on a hunt, but I've already told John Boyd that whatever game Daryl brings back is going to the crew replacing the gate."

"Oh," Hershel said.

"I thought the men we chose to build the fence needed to build up their strength," Rick explained quickly.

"I understand," Hershel nodded.

Maybe I made the wrong call. Maybe we can hold off on replacing the gate for a day or two. Maybe a feast is what we need to make the Woodburians trust us."

"That's a lot of maybes, Rick. The only certainty is we need a new gate. I'd say you made the right decision."

Rick smiled. "Thank you, Hershel." The sheriff's deputy looked around the common room and remembered Carol, sitting here and looking up at the barred windows hour earlier. "Where's Carol?"

"She told us that she'd be out in the courtyard," Hershel answered.

Rick's heart skipped a beat suddenly and he went pale, as he remembered his baby daughter. "Where's Judith?!"

"She's asleep in her crib," Hershel smiled. "Beth's doing a fine job caring for her. I suppose her caring for that baby is a preview of what I'll expect as a grandfather."

Carl, upon hearing Hershel's statement, coughed up some of his oatmeal and it flew onto the table. Rick and Hershel looked at the mess with a mixture of surprise and revulsion.

"Oh, this brings back some memories," Hershel grumbled as he moved his ruined bowl of oatmeal to the side.

"I'm sorry," Carl blushed as he pulled his Stetson down on his face and lowered his head.

Rick sighed wearily and stood up, leaving his oatmeal covered coffee cup on the table. "Carl, clean this up. I'm going to check on Judith."

Carl got out of his chair and with his shoulders slumped, went over to the serving table to get some napkins, Beth grabbed some napkins too and she helped Carl and Hershel clean the table. Carl's blush turned redder, as he realized he just embarrassed himself in front of Beth. Rick walked away from the table and entered Cell Block C.

•••

Rick sat on the lower bunk of his cell, with a sleeping Judith in his arms. He chuckled at his momentary panic of discovering Judith wasn't with Beth and Hershel.

Next, Rick thought about Lori, and how he wished she was still alive so she could see Carl and Judith grow up, and how he could've forgiven her properly for her affair with Shane, and how he and Lori would have the time to fix their marriage.

Finally, Rick thought about Shane, and how his partner and best friend was the likely father of Judith, how Shane lured him out into the woods to kill him, but he killed Shane by stabbing him in the heart.

"Dad?" Carl's voice called out.

Rick looked to his left and saw Carl standing in the doorway of his cell. "Yes, Carl?" he asked.

"I'm sorry that I ruined your coffee, and Hershel's dinner," Carl said.

"It's all right, son," Rick smiled. "The coffee was lousy anyway."

Carl chuckled, and Rick smile grew broader, his son's laugh wasn't loud or contagious, but it sounded like music.

"Can I come in?" Carl asked hopefully.

Rick nodded. Carl removed his Stetson hat, and placed it on the iron desk screwed onto the wall before sitting down on the bunk beside his father and baby sister.

"Henry's plan for the new gate looks good, and we found the materials we'll need here. I think our luck is changing for the better," Rick said, as he looked at the far wall.

"Yeah," Carl said, trying to forget coughing up his oatmeal in front of Beth.

"What do you think of John Boyd?" Rick asked.

Carl snorted in contempt. "I think he's an ass—" Carl's complexion went pale and he looked up at his father, who was now looking down at him with his eyebrows raised. "I mean, I think he's a jerk."

Rick chuckled. "Well, you're right. But not everyone is going to fit into the group right away."

"Like Michonne?" Carl asked.

Rick thought about the mysterious woman who showed up days ago, weak from exhaustion, a bullet wound, and carrying baby formula and a samurai sword. Rick had agreed to the Governor's deal of handing Michonne over as a peace offering, but she had forgiven him. Rick realized it now, but Michonne was now part of the group. "Yeah, like Michonne," he smiled.

"Do you think she'll find the Governor?" Carl asked.

Rick looked down at the sleeping Judith and gently brushed the few locks on the top of her head. "I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Don't you mean you hope she doesn't?" Carl asked with a hint of anger.

Rick sighed wearily. "I don't want to renew this argument, Carl. All I can say is that we have more important things to worry about."

Carl looked down at the floor and said nothing. The only sound in the cell was Judith's fragile breathing. A few minutes later Carl looked at his father and asked, "Dad, did you decide if I can go with you on that food run?"

Rick looked down at Carl saw the seriousness in his son's face. _Carl wants to help the group, like he wanted to at Hershel's farm or when I made him leave the prison before the Governor attacked,_ he thought.

 _I hate to admit it, but Carl's earned his chance to help: he's a good shot, and when I've let him help, he's never let me down. But should I let him go with me on that food run?_

 _I'm afraid that Carl's getting cold, just like after the Barn massacre when Lori told me he said he would've shot Sophia if he found her like that…a walker._

 _This morning Carl said if the Governor came back, we'd kill him; I sent Carl to his cell for saying that. And when Carl saw those dead walkers Tyreese killed with his hammer, he was in awe. Is it too late to stop Carl from being desensitized?_

 _But I took Carl along when I told John that any game Daryl brought back was going to the crew working on the gate. What if that standoff turned into a gunfight? What kind of father am I to put my son in that situation?_

 _I don't think I can help it; that's how the world is now. I can keep Carl safe, but I can't keep him away from what we have to face every day. I just need to watch him and make sure he doesn't lose his humanity._

"Dad?" Carl's voice called out in the distance.

Rick blinked and looked down at Carl, waiting for an answer. "Only if you stay close to me and do exactly what I tell you," he said firmly.

Carl's blue eyes brightened and a grin spread across his face. "Yes! Yes!" he shouted happily as he leapt off the bunk and raised his fists up in triumph.

Carl's celebration woke up Judith and she began to cry. Rick held the baby close to stop her crying, but she didn't stop. When Carl realized what he had done, he put his arms down and blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, shit," he muttered.

"Carl!" Rick shouted, shocked to hear his son cursing.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Carl whined. "It was an accident."

Rick sighed, stood up and bounced Judith gently in his arms. "It's all right, son. She would've woken up sooner or later. Just watch your mouth."

"Sure," Carl nodded as he picked up his Stetson. "Thanks, Dad!"

Rick turned around and caught a glimpse of Carl running out of the cell. Rick shook his head as Judith's cries rang in his ears.

•••

The sun began setting on the horizon, so the Woodburians returned to Cell Block D. Carol remained outside, seated on the bleacher's bottom row, waiting for Daryl to return.

Hours earlier, Carol had stepped out of Cell Block C; some of the Woodburians waved politely and a few even said hello; she had responded in kind, sat down at the bleachers, and watched the deserted road for the group's truck to appear.

The sounds of the children laughing as they played their games drifted into Carol's ears and they reminded her instantly of her daughter Sophia, on the backyard swing, playing with her dolls, at her birthday parties, and on Christmas mornings. Tears ran down Carol's face and she wiped them away quickly and did her best to block out the laughter.

It got colder as it got darker, so Carol thought about running back into the cell block and getting her coat, but she refused and wrapped her arms around her waist to keep warm.

A few minutes later Carol's ears perked up when she heard the rumble of an engine and then she saw two yellow spheres speeding towards the fence. Carol jumped to her feet and ran to the courtyard fence as the truck slammed on its breaks and its lights illuminated the prison squad car and the two Woodburians that were guarding it.

"Is that you, Dixon?!" Juan shouted in his broken English.

"You're damn right!" Daryl quipped as he stuck his middle finger out the open driver's side window.

"Oh, thank God," Carol whispered happily at the sound of Daryl's voice.

Michael got into the prison squad car and the car's engine rumbled to life and he moved it forward; with the car out of the way, Daryl drove the Dodge Ram 1500 truck up the hill, past the courtyard's open gate and continued on to the motor pool. Daryl parked the truck, killed the engine, jumped out of the truck, and dug into his leather vest's pocket for his pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

"Daryl!" Carol shouted happily.

Daryl had just selected a cigarette when he heard Carol call his name. He looked up and saw her running out of the growing darkness and he couldn't help but smile. Carol stopped running, stood in front of Daryl, and smiled in return.

"You're back," Carol said cheerfully.

"Looks like it," Daryl muttered before putting the cigarette between his lips.

Carol smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Did you have any trouble?" she asked.

"Huntin' is always trouble," Daryl quipped as he put the flame of his Zippo lighter to the cigarette's tip. "Game wants to stay alive."

Carol laughed nervously at Daryl's cynical joke.

"Come here," Daryl waved to Carol as he walked over to the rear of the truck. Carol followed and stood by Daryl's side as he unlocked the truck's tailgate, revealing the young deer he had killed. "It ain't much, but its meat," he reasoned.

Carol felt a moment of pity for the young deer, but she knew that hunting was one of the necessities that kept the group alive this long; she looked up at Daryl, and smiled in appreciation. "Good work," she said.

Daryl blushed and blew out the cigarette's smoke. "Thanks."

Daryl resumed smoking his cigarette and Carol looked down at her boots. A few moments later they said in unison, "I was just wondering—"

Daryl and Carol blushed again and chuckled. "Uh…go on," the gruff redneck muttered.

"I was just wondering if you need any help preparing that deer for dinner," Carol said.

Daryl snorted. "Funny, I was just wonderin' if you wanted to help me dress the deer."

Carol folded her arms across her chest and smiled. "Well, if you don't think I'll get in the way…"

"No, I'm gettin' used to havin' you around," Daryl muttered as he pulled the deer out of the truck bed.

Carol smiled and walked into the motor pool ahead of Daryl; she flipped the light switch on, and he walked inside as he carried the deer in his arms. Carol flipped another switch, and the motor pool's door rolled down and shut them away from the cold and the night.

 **THE END**


End file.
